


The Cellist

by AlternateUniverses



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Phil Coulson's Cellist, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlternateUniverses/pseuds/AlternateUniverses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“He loved you, you know,” Jasper finds himself saying. “He used to talk about his cellist all the time. You lit up his world.”</em>
</p><p>Jasper finds himself there at the beginning, and at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cellist

Jasper frowns, standing in the doorway of Phil’s office with two coffees and a bag of doughnuts. Phil’s finally back from that mission in Croatia – it was supposed to be a simple in-and-out assassination, but they’d been hit by heavy snow and hadn’t been able to be extracted for three days. Jasper had expected Phil to be drawn with exhaustion and leftover irritability from having been stuck in the tiny Croatian safehouse with Clint-fucking-Barton for three whole days, but instead he looks – happy. Comfortable. Smug.

Barton, reclined on the couch Jasper swears he’s claimed as his own, looks the same.

“Something’s up,” he announced, dumping the coffee and doughnuts on the table and throwing himself into the chair opposite Phil’s desk.

Phil swallows, his nervous tell. Barton chuckles. Jasper frowns again.

“There’s something different about you,” he says, being deliberately vague. Phil will tell him, he’s sure, but he won’t want to tell Barton. Barton gossips like an old woman in a sewing circle.

Phil takes a large gulp of coffee, stalling, and splutters when he burns his mouth. He glares at Barton cackling on the couch.

“Come on, boss, you knew you couldn’t hide that afterglow,” Barton teases, crossing the tiny office to stuff a doughnut in his mouth with an appreciative grunt. “His cellist’s in town,” he smirks at Jasper before turning and walking out of the office. “I’ll be in the range,” he calls over his shoulder.

“A cellist?” Sitwell turns to Phil. “Spill,” he commands.

*

Years later, helping a guilt-stricken and grief-wracked Clint Barton pack up his SHIELD-issued apartment to move in with the other Avengers, Jasper can’t help but notice the cello sitting in the corner of the living room. Clint is barely supervising, strong arms wrapped around himself as he stares into the middle distance. When Jasper moves to pick up the cello, Clint springs into action.

“Don’t touch that,” he snarls, standing protectively in front of it.

“Okay,” agrees Jasper, backing away. The pieces slot into place as Clint turns and puts a gentle hand on the body of the instrument, eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Oh,” he says softly.

Clint lets out a wet huff that could be interpreted as a laugh. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“The Portland Cello Project?” Jasper asks.

“The safehouse. A guy with a bow. It seemed reasonable.”

They stand in silence for a while before Clint clears his throat and speaks again.

“Phil didn’t want to make a thing of it. That, and Fury was pretty mad. Apparently there’s a fraternisation policy.” He’s packing things up now, collapsing the music stand and gently lifting the cello out of its stand and placing it into the huge plastic-moulded case. “I took up the cello after that, so it wouldn’t feel so…” he trails off, unable to finish.

Jasper nods. He has no idea what to do with his hands.

“He loved you, you know,” he finds himself saying. “He used to talk about his cellist all the time. You lit up his world.”

“Yeah,” Clint says softly, and the single word is packed with so much self-loathing that Jasper staggers.

“Clint, it wasn’t-“ he starts, sharply, but Clint cuts him off.

“Jasper? Shut up. I’ve been told,” he snaps. Looks away. “Doesn’t make it easier.”

Jasper nods, claps him on the shoulder. “I don’t suppose it would,” he murmurs. They stand there in silence for a while, thinking of Phil, and then go back to packing without another word.


End file.
